


A Day Alone, Only That Would Be Death

by KaavyaWriting



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Swearing, idk this is pure ridiculous Halloween fluff basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 21:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12591432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaavyaWriting/pseuds/KaavyaWriting
Summary: Thorin hates parties, small talk, and strangers, so why had he let Bofur talk him into this?





	A Day Alone, Only That Would Be Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick and dirty unbeta'd Halloween fic, because honestly I _had_ to post a Halloween fic. Thanks and love to both [lilithiumwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/pseuds/lilithiumwords) and [gloomier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gloomier) for inspiration when my muse fled me. <3
> 
> A very happy Halloween, everyone!

Thorin grumbled under his breath, hovering uncomfortably on the back porch of Bofur's-friend's-cousin's house as dozens of other guests milled and laughed drunkenly around the outdoor fire.

Granted the party had been going for several hours now and the booze had been flowing freely the entire time, but it was Halloween in the _north_. It was damn cold outside, Thorin knew precisely three of these people—one if he considered Bofur had vanished with Nori an hour ago—and he was not nearly drunk enough to deal with this shit.

Why did his friends insist he _socialize_ this way? It wasn't as though he was a recluse, he simply didn't like people. Nothing wrong with that.

Thorin contemplated his subpar wine cooler. Not even properly wine, and the beer had run out three hours ago. He swilled his plastic cup gently, raised it for a light swallow, and grimaced.

Most of the guests looked like millennials for fuck's sake. His nephews would have felt at home here. Thorin was in his forties. Wasn't his life supposed to be past college parties by this point?

Definitely past costume parties. He mentally considered his halfhearted efforts while carefully not looking himself over in the glass of the door back into the kitchen. Pinstripe suit, waistcoat, his grandfather's pocket watch, bowtie, all of it outdated enough to look out of place. Pomaded hair, enough to slick it back and turn his long ponytail discreet. Everything he was wearing he'd already had around the house—or around Dís's house, and since she was the one who insisted he join Bofur tonight it was only fair.

Thorin felt utterly ridiculous.

He was interested in chatting with zero of these people.

He didn't even like small talk. He loathed it.

Thorin eyed the backyard once more and wondered if he could slip off. No one would notice, but Bofur was his ride and Thorin had never actually been this far into the suburbs around the city before.

Men and women lounged around the fire like it wasn't just this side of freezing, plastic cups clutched in hands and paper plates of pretzels and toothpick-pierced cheese balanced on top. Half of them were barely covered in costumes of vampires, devils, and angels, oh my.

There was even a Godiva bodysuit flirting with a Pan back near the garage.

Thorin sidled down the porch steps and into the shadow of the house, avoiding eye-contact with anyone who glanced his way like they were contemplating actual conversation.

There was a huff of laughter from the shadows to his right. "Not a people person, eh?"

Thorin did _not_ jump out of his skin, no matter what the intruder thought as a hand shot out to steady Thorin's cup.

"No," Thorin said shortly, turning to growl at whoever decided his scowl was worth braving, and pulled up short, disconcerted. A tiny plump thing, all curly blond hair and amused eyes, mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh.

"Sorry," the man began, "I didn't mean to startle you, but I was here first."

"A doctor's coat? A bit cliché, isn't it?" Thorin said, taking the costume in and stomping down hard on the urge to apologize for intruding. It was, after all, a party, and no one had yet to apologize to him for invading _his_ personal space.

"Hey! This is a period accurate doctor's frock, thank you." The man brushed invisible dust off the white coat, almost knocking heavy, dark gloves from his pocket. He then proceeded with a close inspection of Thorin's own appearance, not bothering to hide a wicked smile. "Mr. Gomez Addams, I presume," and if his voice was low and flirty, well, Thorin's sudden, disconcerted flush was hidden by the shadows of the house."Dr. Frankenstein, at your service."

"Dr. Frankenstein," Thorin repeated, and wondered how the hell he'd ended up in this situation. Small talk was of no interest to him, and yet. "Not the monster."

"Too tragic," the man replied promptly.

"And the doctor _isn't_?" Thorin scoffed.

If anything, the man's smile grew more flirtatious. "You know your classics." He waved his hand dismissively in the air. "Better to be a tragedy of hubris than one of abandoned creation. I confess, however, I'm beginning to wish I'd come as Morticia like my cousin suggested.

"I didn't think I could pull it off," the man offered when Thorin didn't respond, too busy staring in blank shock. "Too short, and I'll be damned if I'm going to wander around all night with a long-stemmed rose in my mouth."

"You could," Thorin blurted, and winced, cursing his brain for how enticing he found the entire idea. He was undoubtedly blushing now. "Ah, so long as you know a little French."

"Mon cher?" The man teased, and laughed when Thorin groaned.

"God," Thorin muttered, scruffing a hand over his jaw in an aborted move to cover his face. "The Addam's Family was my nephews' favorite thing when they were kids. Became a family favorite, you know."

"I'm not complaining," the man objected, inching closer. "To live without you," he pitched his voice low and dramatic, a declaration somehow intimate and ridiculous at once, "only that would be torture. A day alone—"

It startled a laugh from Thorin. "I believe that's my line. But you're not Morticia, Dr. Frankenstein."

The man paused, then sighed, but there was still a smile teasing the edges of his mouth. "Fair enough. Difficult to be a seductive black widow in a doctor's frock." His smile grew into a full, devilish thing. "But I think I'm dressed appropriately enough to play the role of Thing under the table."

"You didn't just say that." Dear fucking god, Thorin was certain his face was bright enough to compete with the campfire at this point. "Tell me I'm having a sudden fit of insanity and misheard you."

"Well," the man said thoughtfully, "Gomez does seem the type to reliably have a fit of madness come upon him." He paused, his smile turning a shade apologetic, though no less flirtatious for all that. "I didn't mean to bother you."

Thorin eyed him. "Are you always this forward with strangers at parties?"

"Only tall, dark, menacing strangers at Halloween parties, I'm afraid. It's only happened the once so far, but I confess I suffer the unfortunate malady of being attracted to satirical gothic romantic figures. It's my one weakness, you understand."

"That and hubris," Thorin said idly. The man's smile brightened, and Thorin's stomach flipped. Damnit, he way was not enjoying small talk. He was not.

"My two weaknesses then," he allowed.

"It does explain your penchant for sewing together a tragic monster," Thorin said.

The man's laugh was full of delight. They grinned at each other for long seconds before he shook his head. "I don't suppose you'd like to get out of here? Get a coffee somewhere and discuss our characters' innate flaws?"

"At midnight?" Thorin scoffed. "I suppose the Starbucks around the corner stays open late on Halloween."

"No idea." The man shrugged. "But there are at least three places in the city off the top of my head. The Black Tower on Mordor Avenue, or its twin café down on Isengard, the White Tower?"

Thorin frowned. "I don't know them, down on the east side?"

"In university territory, yeah."

Thorin stilled before looking the stranger up and down more closely, abruptly reminded how very young most of the partygoers were. Millennials. Fuck. "How old are you again?" His flirtatious stranger looked young, now that Thorin was paying attention. Small, blond, soft around the edges, with a distractingly sharp, charming tongue. He wouldn't have guessed college-young, but Thorin had never been good with ages.

Dr. Frankenstein was laughing at him. "I'm a professor, not a student. Well, reluctant visiting professor. I'll confess I prefer spending my days researching than teaching. What about Madra's?"

The relief paired with sudden shift in topic had Thorin staring blankly.

"A late night café," he clarified. "If you'd like to go somewhere a little quieter and a lot warmer with, hopefully, better company than you've found here." His look was less flirtatious now, more hopeful.

"Madra's—Bombur's wife? Bombur Urson?" Thorin asked.

"Oh!" He brightened. "You know Bombur? Yes, right. Madra and I are cooking friends." He chuckled at Thorin's arched eyebrow. "Forged in the heat of the kitchen. Unbreakable bond and all that."

Thorin's mouth twitched up into a smile of its own volition, bypassing any input from his brain whatsoever. "Very well. Coffee would be a vast improvement over whatever they're putting in the coolers here."

He laughed. "Coffee is a vast improvement to just about anything, from the knowledgeable authority of a teacher and researcher."

"And a doctor," Thorin added drily, following close behind as the man led the way out of the backyard and back through the house. "It occurs to me I don't actually know your name."

"I believe I introduced myself, Mr. Addams. Dr. Frankenstein, at your pleasure." He threw a wicked grin over his shoulder. At Thorin's unimpressed stare back, he huffed, "Alright, alright, Bilbo Baggins, if you must know. Still at your pleasure, of course."

Thorin smiled properly for the first time since Dis and Bofur had tag-teamed him for this not-entirely-awful party. "Thorin Durin, at yours."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! <3
> 
> Everyone who is eyeballing me right now, wondering where the WBWB and 'killing time' updates are, I am working on both fics and neither of them are abandoned. It's been a rough year for me on a lot of fronts, and I really miss writing regularly, posting, and sharing with all of you. I'm trying, my dears, I promise. :)


End file.
